


Safeword

by Morteamore



Series: The Ties That Bind [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Bottom Jack, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Jack makes an awful pun, Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Role Reversal, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Sexual Tension, Spreader Bars, Too Many Descriptions Of Food, Under-negotiated Kink, but just once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 20:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: After being introduced to the BDSM scene by Hugo Vasquez, Rhys finds himself with a healthy interest in pursuing the lifestyle. Enter Handsome Jack, whose casual relationship with him seems to be getting more serious lately. On date night, Jack makes a proposition, one that sounds all too appealing in regards to Rhys' newfound hobbies. Only when Jack eventually drags him back to his penthouse, things don't go exactly to plan, and Rhys is forced to take matters in an impromptu direction.(Companion story toAfter Hours)





	Safeword

**Author's Note:**

> Safe, sane, and consensual? Probably not any of those entirely, so a bit of a warning for that. Takes place in the same universe as _After Hours_, where Rhys has a side hustle programming and arting for a game project with Vasquez, though reading that isn't a necessity. One or two minor things might be confusing because of it, but that's about it.
> 
> Listened to Tori Amos' _Songs From the Choirgirl Hotel_ and _Baroque Equinox_ by Die Form a bunch of times on repeat while writing. Also some random stuff by Daniel Deluxe. All are good mood setters.

“Big date tonight?” 

Letting the tie he had strewn across his outstretched arms fall to the bed, its pattern of cogs and gears becoming a crumpled mass, Rhys turned around to face his best friend. Hands beginning to button his collared shirt closed, he nodded. Vaughn, who was standing in the bedroom doorway, crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowing. 

“You don’t seem very excited,” he said after Rhys offered no further comment. “Is it with Vasquez again? I mean, that would totally explain things.”

“God, no!” Voice too adamant, Rhys realized, he had the decency to shoot Vaughn a sheepish look. “Sorry. It’s just that I think I need a bit of a vacation from going out with Hugo. Last time got out of hand.”

“Yeah, you never did tell me exactly what went down that weekend. You were really weird afterward, come to think of it.”

“Hey, a lot happened. I haven’t even processed most of it myself. When I finally do, you’ll be the first to hear all about it.”

“Excellent.” With a few strides, Vaughn had crossed the room, reaching out to undo a button that Rhys had threaded crookedly. Lining it up with the correct slot, he straightened out the order. “So, why aren’t you bursting with joy at the moment?”

“It’s complicated.” Rhys sighed, tucking his shirt into his pants before starting to close them up. They were the fanciest pair of slacks he owned, black pleated with subtle golden scroll patterning at the hem and pockets. “Things are starting to get serious.”

“Whoa, what? That’s great news, bro.”

“Yeah, sure. Awesome.” Pants zipped and buttoned, Rhys looped a soft and stippled patent leather belt around his waist. “Only I need to start up’ing my game in the impressions department, and all I have are unfashionable ties.”

“No way, they’re great.” A tie was snatched from an open dresser drawer, Vaughn holding the accessory up to his face. On the garish red material, there was an image of a cat sitting upright, eyes squeezed shut, one paw raised in greeting. “Look at this one. It’s obviously lucky. Who says impressions have to be subtle?”

After considering the tie a moment, Rhys shook his head. The mattress dipped as his weight settled on it, and he had to fight himself from flopping backward, head drooping until he was propping it up with his flesh hand. A low and heavy sound escaped him, balancing between exasperation and despair.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Vaughn supplied, finding himself scrambling to pull Rhys away from the hole he seemed to be determined to bury himself in. “You could always wear your red one.”

“Are you kidding me? Jack hates that tie.”

“Jack who? Deveraux, from your department? Is that who you’ve been keeping so hush-hush about? Bro, I’m a little hurt. I get it, dating in your own work pool can be iffy at Hyperion. But who would I tell? Besides Yvette, I mean. Or is that your point?”

“Uh, no.” Lifting his head, Rhys’ expression twisted into something unreadable. He didn’t continue right away, not until Vaughn didn’t appear to be backing down, the pointed look he was giving his friend expectant of at least _some_ elaboration. “Jack. As in _the_ Jack.”

“_The_ Jack?” Vaughn parroted, looking perplexed. 

His face pinched in concentration, it wasn’t until Rhys jammed a thumb at the images plastered on his wall that the truth settled on Vaughn. The taller man may as well have asked him to witness the signing of his last will and testament, so effected by the truth that he was. Eyes widening, mouth gaping open, he swept his gaze between Rhys and the stark, imposing imagery of Handsome Jack’s visage emblazoned on the posters. When he spoke again, his words came out shrill, tumbling out in a rush until they clashed together. 

“Wh-what the hell, Rhys? Were you just never going to tell me that you were dating Handsome Jack, _the_ Handsome Jack, or what? How did this even happen? _When_ did it happen? You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that and leave me hanging.”

“Of course I was going to tell you. Eventually. We’re just keeping it on the down low right now. His idea, not mine.”

“That isn’t exactly a safe decision, you know.”

A shrug from Rhys, who gathered himself and stood. 

“It’s worked out just fine so far.” Balling the ties into one pile, he scooped them up, dumping them all in his drawer at once and slamming it shut. “As for how it happened, it wasn’t a total fluke, I guess. He’s a fan. Of my game. If I told you the whole story now, I’d be late for our date. But I promise, I _will_ tell you everything.”

“Wow, I’m really torn about this. A part of me is screaming about how awesome and ironic but mostly awesome it all is. The other part is just like, ‘what are you doing just standing there, you have to stop him!’ I honestly don’t know which one to listen to.”

“Probably both.” 

Opening his closet, Rhys parted the hanging shirts from the handful of blazers he owned, each perfectly tailored to be stylish while bereft of their right sleeves. With a few moments of consideration, he selected one with an asymmetrical cut, the hem and collar sharp and streamlined, the open cuff of the missing arm just as sharp and stitched with some abstract design that ran down that entire side of the garment. It was more a work of modern art than outfit accessory, and not exactly something he was always in the mood to have represent him. For tonight, it would do nicely, though. Jack appeared to prefer bold, loud and kitschy, and Rhys was very good at meeting the expectations of others.

“Screw the tie,” he said, shrugging into the garment. “How do I look?”

“If I’m being perfectly honest,” Vaughn commented, pushing his glasses up his nose as he gave his friend a thorough once-over. “I’d say gaudy, but owning it.”

“Perfect.”

Moving to the bathroom, Rhys picked up his comb, passed it through his locks a few times. The two stray strands flopping over his forehead smoothed back for a moment before slipping back down. It wasn’t how he usually wore his hair, but the gel didn’t seem to be holding no matter what he did, and that slight deviation from the norm wasn’t exactly an eyesore. The opposite, in fact. It added a roguish quality to his look; one that said he was primed and ready for the evening but was just as skilled at a little improvisation. 

The hair staying as is, Rhys glanced at the clock, found his skag skin boots and his wallet and keys, took one last glance in the mirror as he made his way towards the front door. Vaughn had gathered up his laptop and taken a seat on the sofa when Rhys turned back towards him.

“I’ll be home pretty late, ok?” he informed the shorter man. “Would you feed Seamus for me? Oh, and don’t wait up.”

“I haven’t seen that purring ball of non-hypoallergenic dander since I got home, but sure thing. Have fun, bro. Try not to get yourself killed.”

“Will do.”

Shooting Vaughn finger guns, Rhys opened the door with a flourish, all but gliding over the threshold.

A bit over an hour later, he was sitting in the private dining room of one of Helios’ fancier establishments, holding the stem of his wine glass delicately between thumb and forefinger as he swirled its contents under his nose and inhaled. That’s the way Handsome Jack found Rhys when he strolled into the restaurant, all but collapsing into the seat opposite him. Winded, his appearance one of an individual who’d just run their first marathon, he took up the dirty martini the waiter set down by his hand, unskewered the olives with a bite and a slurp.

“Jack,” Rhys deadpanned and raised his glass to his lips, taking a long, smooth drink. His tongue clucked at the roof of his mouth. “Why are the best wines always so dry? Anyway, glad to see you made it early. I was so nervous that I’d be stuck waiting here all by myself.”

Glancing at his watch, Jack’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. He chewed and swallowed the olives, picked up his glass. 

“I know, pumpkin,” he said before taking a noisy sip. “I got hung up on field reports that should’ve been in this morning. Had to discipline almost an entire team. You know how it can be sometimes with these screwheads.”

“Oh, I know. Not really an excuse, airlocking people, but I know.”

“More like strangling people. And not even to death, either.”

“Restraint from you? Must be a special occasion.”

“Hey, I’m not without mercy in the right situation.” There was a pause where Rhys stared expectantly over the rim of his glass, refraining from drinking. “Also, it was date night, I was already running behind, and I needed to get my ass in gear and sort a few things out for tonight.”

“I see. I’m going to make an honest man of you yet, Jack. That is, if I make it that long.”

“You want honesty, huh?” It was brief, but Jack’s gaze swept over him as if admiring some cherished possession. “You look hot enough tonight for me to want to skip dinner and have you as the main course instead. Right here on the table. Or, even better: eat the main course _off_ of you and have you for dessert.”

“I’m flattered. But, uh, I’m not sure I’m at the point in this relationship where I want to engage in nantaimori with you, really.” Giving a silent thank you to the gods of his wardrobe for helping him pick the evening’s wear, Rhys finished off the last drops of his wine, considered drinking another glass before their food even came. In the end he poured himself some more from the bottle on the table, only filling it halfway. “Though now you have me wanting to know. About what you were sorting out, not about having your dinner eaten off my naked body, I mean.”

“Some other time, I guess.” A soft chuckle escaping him, Jack put his martini down and leaned back in his seat. “Ah, nothing really, sweetheart. Just some stuff to add some spice to the night. You’ll see later. Hey, didja order any food yet or what?”

“Oh, yeah. I just got the special. Bouillabaisse and Coq au Riesling for two.”

Bursting laughter erupted from Jack so harshly it startled Rhys, who almost knocked over his glass. He caught it at the last moment, preventing it from falling into his lap, and shot his date a filthy look.

“Oh my god, Rhys,” Jack exclaimed as he sucked in a deep breath, slamming a hand down on the table as he burst into a second fit of laughter. “Did you—shit, that’s—I know I’ve been known to crave some cock in my life every now and then, and yours is definitely an appreciated addition. But no way am I ready to go putting it in my mouth.”

In retrospect, Rhys knew he had waltzed the fuck in and invited that jeer right to his doorstep. Still, it didn’t stop him from becoming perturbed by the comment, arms crossing over his chest, lip jutting out in a pout. The look only intensified Jack’s state, sending him howling. Rhys caught the waiter floating in the back of the room’s gaze, grimacing when the man rolled his eyes. He disappeared through a set of double doors shortly after, and Rhys could only hope he was heading to the kitchen to retrieve their food.

“Are you _trying_ to get me to leave before we’ve even started on dinner?” Rhys commented when it seemed Jack wasn’t going to sober on his own. “Because I will leave. And I won’t ever return your ECHO calls again.”

“Like that would stop me,” Jack quipped, shedding his mirth like an old skin. One moment he was practically choking on his own laughter, spittle flying and everything, and the next he had his hands clasped on the table in front of him, heterochromatic gaze stripped of any emotion. “Besides, you and me both know there are other ways of keeping tabs on you.”

“Yeah, so…_that_ doesn’t imply anything remotely creepy.” Pushing away from the table, Rhys looked torn between staying rooted in place and standing up. “I’m not sure this is entirely comfortable anymore.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?” Hands gripping the table, Jack leaned forward, eyes widening. “No, Rhys, hold up now. I didn’t mean that the way you’re thinking. It’s just, ya know, shit I know? I’m not, like, creeping on you or nothing. Well, I might’ve peeked at your employee file. But I had to know you were telling me the truth and weren’t some low tier schmuck trying to pan for gold.”

Though he inclined his head so that he could regard Jack down his nose, Rhys remained rigid.

“You see, what I meant was, it’s kinda hard to get away from me. At least while you work for Hyperion. I _sort_ of have to know what you’re doing. And I like ya. A whole lot more than I do most people. I dig the raw ambition, the snark and the hero worship. Do I even need to mention the sexual adventurousness? Probably not. It’s all a really fucking endearing package. M’being totally honest here.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Rhys huffed out a breath and considered the man before him. The CEO’s words were flattering, exactly the kind of things Rhys wanted to hear about himself. Perhaps that’s what made them go down with such difficulty, as if they were lined with barbs rather than honeyed and smooth. It was hard to consider such compliments honest when they seemed so entrenched in how manipulative Jack could be. Still, in his starstruck heart, Rhys wanted this to work, wanted him and Jack to become a _thing_, knew that if he just worked at it, it was obtainable. So few people had managed to get as close to the CEO as he had. Rhys thought that if he stuck it out, compromised himself just a little in the right ways, he’d become that rare breed, even survive to regale people about it. 

Besides, what had Jack done that was really so terrible that he should dismiss the man entirely? Cornered, his response had simply been kneejerk, a flash in the pan of thought. It was nothing he wasn’t used to enduring at Hyperion on the daily. Sure, Jack actually _had_ the power to follow through with his threats. But Rhys was being irrational, stubborn. He was losing sight of the grander scheme. With Jack, it was pertinent to endure a certain amount of disconcertion to reap the greater rewards of the interpersonal relationship, intimate or not. Or so the _How to Succeed in Business the Hyperion Way_ audiobook series he’d so voraciously consumed had taught him. How could he have forgotten one of its fundamental nuggets of advice?

_The correlation between hubris and success at Hyperion speaks quite frankly. One must have an inflated sense of self-importance and value and flaunt it to the highest degree to actively compete in the company’s ranks. That being said, Hyperion is not Maliwan or, thank the gods of commerce, Dahl. You must be superior-fearing, humbled by the presence of those around you that surpass your rank, using a healthy dosage of self-deprecation to your advantage at all costs. Never is this more important than when in the presence of the standing CEO, Handsome Jack. Follow this sound advice, and you may just win his favor should you survive the encounter._

Come to think of it, he wasn’t really sure if the author had been being facetious with those words.

“Hey, Rhys, you still with me?”

Shaking his head to clear it, the table in the back room of the restaurant came into focus once more as Rhys settled back into reality. His flesh hand found the nape of his neck, rubbed at the clammy skin there.

“Fine,” he replied curtly, voice deadpan. “I’ll stay. For now.”

That seemed to settle Jack. He leaned back in his seat, grinned as if nothing had transpired, snatched up his martini and sipped from it without breaking eye contact. Food was served before either of them could break the momentary silence, a heaping bowl of bouillabaisse placed between the two of them first. Jack dismissed the waiter and picked up the serving spoon, plunging it into the greasy wine broth and shoveling a helping of glistening and plump shellfish on to his plate. The plucking off of prawn shells was an act made almost violent by his fingers. In fascination, Rhys watched as he discarded the chitinous husk legs first, spearing the meat with a fish fork, tearing off a hunk of it like a predator with a fresh kill. The CEO ate in compliance with the way he ran Hyperion, and like the way he fucked. Finding the vulnerable areas first, pulling them up by their roots and taking them out in the most advantageous way. Then he broke down the rest, dividing and conquering in increments. It was the equivalent of blunt force trauma, derived from something raw and primal and utterly breath-taking. It lacked finesse, but such had never been a prerequisite to begin with.

Despite himself, the chain of thought set off a twinge of desire in Rhys, faint but there. He couldn’t believe it. He was being turned on by Jack eating fish with all the refinement of a creature that lacked opposable thumbs. Maybe if his sex life had been a wasteland lately, it would have made more sense. But he wasn’t deprived. Not even a little. 

“You gonna eat or what?”

Jack was leering at Rhys as if he could read his mind. Which probably meant he was about to unleash some decidedly clever torrent of innuendo. Rhys filled his plate and braced himself. What came out of Jack’s mouth next surprised him, though. 

“That scene, in your game project. The one you were working on the other day.” 

Dabbing sauce from the corner of his mouth with his napkin, Rhys looked at him expectantly. “Which one? I did a lot the other day.”

“The, er, the one with the ropes.”

“Oh. That. Ah, that was Vasquez’s idea. The weirder ones usually are.”

“You consider rope bondage to be weird?”

“It certainly isn’t vanilla.”

“Guess it ain’t.” Setting his fork down with a clinking sound, Jack set his elbows on the table and folded his hands, rested his chin on them. “You ever do that kinda thing before?”

“What, tie someone up?” Though his voice was casual, Rhys was a bit wary, trying to figure out what Jack’s motivations were at the moment. He had a solid hunch, as the CEO was predictable in that regard. It was just that he’d learned a thing or two about assuming at Hyperion. Especially when it came to the boss. The modus operandi could be as cliched as they came, but Jack often took a concept and made dimensional leaps with it. “I’d be lying if I said no. Though it was more situational dabbling. Not that I’m entirely ignorant. I’m just not officially into the lifestyle or anything.”

“So, you wouldn’t be freaked if I said I may just have several feet of expensive silk rope back at the penthouse that I might just have purchased in anticipation of tonight.”

Rhys shucked the meat from the remnants of the shellfish on his plate and was careful with his next words. “That all depends. You aren’t telling me how you plan to use it.”

A snort from Jack, who scooted his chair in, leaning closer across the small confines of the table, crossing the invisible line into Rhys’ space. 

“How do you think, cupcake? I’ve been dying to get you all trussed up like you’re some gift for me to unwrap during the friggin’ holidays. Arms bound together behind your back, ropes leaving marks on that soft, pale skin where you strained against them the most.”

The lowkey tremble of desire budding in Rhys from earlier spiked for a moment, then plateaued again. He drank down a mouthful of wine, trying to hide the flush creeping along his cheeks. It might have worked if the rush of liquid hadn’t flooded his airway then, causing him to sputter and cough.

“Easy there, Rhysie,” Jack drawled, a chuckle passing from his lips, dark and crude and slow as oil. “Don’t get too excited before we’ve even begun.” Shoving a crystal glass of water closer towards him, the CEO watched as Rhys inhaled its contents and took a deep, shuddering breath. “You good now?”

After a few moments, Rhys nodded. 

“Great, cos I’m just about ready to take this show back to the bedroom.”

“We haven’t even eaten the main course,” Rhys protested, only realizing how ridiculous he was being after the words had tumbled out of his mouth.

The shift in the restaurant air around them was palpable, overwrought. It didn’t take much to get Jack riled up, and when he was, it seeped into everything around him, becoming overwhelming. Even if Jack’s words hadn’t spoke to some deep-seated, base desire in Rhys that he was becoming ever more aware of, he didn’t think he would’ve protested. 

With a snap of Jack’s fingers the waiter, who’d been hovering nearby awaiting such a summons, appeared at the tableside. An exchange of words, and the waiter was disappearing into the kitchen, ferrying back a sealed thermal sack a short time later. Though his expression was bland, as one in such his position would be smart enough to don in Handsome Jack’s presence, Rhys could see barely contained amusement dancing in his eyes as he bowed and took his leave.

“Dinner to go, and a little something special for later,” Jack explained as he grabbed the bag and stood.

Helping Rhys to his feet, he wound his arm around the other man’s hip, guiding him forward, keeping flush to him, invading his senses with his presence. The smell of designer cologne and potent hair product triggered a series of fond memories of being in Jack’s arms, in his bed, and Rhys thought that maybe he’d ingested too much wine, or that there was indeed something to be said about shellfish being aphrodisiacs. By the time the pair reached the elevator, Rhys was riding the razor edge of desperation and still wasn’t closer to understanding why. 

Inside, in the space that suddenly seemed too claustrophobic despite a lack of other passengers, on an ascent that seemed to move all too slow, Rhys pulled Jack close and sealed their lips together, all but crashing against him. Every time they kissed, Rhys was reminded of what made them work so well as a pair, why he wanted to pursue the other man despite his shortcomings. It was akin to finding the right jigsaw piece in a vexing puzzle, that satisfying click of two pieces fitting together as part of something bigger. Maybe Rhys was just projecting on to his most basic lustful instincts. He almost wanted to question Jack for perspective, but he also didn’t want the other man to think of him as someone lacking confidence who always needed to be reassured. 

The moment never got a chance to escalate anyway, tension severed by Jack’s hands on Rhys’ lapels, pushing away even as as his mouth clung to the younger man’s lips for just a moment longer. His eyes were all pupil, deep black rings pulsing with animal lust. 

“If I knew asking to tie you up would turn you on this much, I would’ve introduced the idea sooner.” Voice thick in Rhys’ ear, Jack’s body radiated an energy that spoke of latent desire. He expected Jack to seize him, bite him, _something_. But the CEO just drew back, palm brushing across his groin in a movement as discreet as it was direct. He turned, then, gaze flitting in the likely direction of a hidden surveillance camera. “Hopefully you can save that level of enthusiasm for the bedroom.”

The air in the elevator suddenly felt cloying, taking on an almost tangible quality as it choked off Rhys’ breathing. He swallowed and fought to compose himself, ignoring the heat pooling in his groin at the ghost of Jack’s touch, his cock starting to strain against the material of his underwear. For the rest of the ride, Jack said very little to him, though he caught the CEO giving him deliberate glances. It did little to calm Rhys down, and by the time the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse level, he was doing everything in his power to restrain his physical agitation.

Once they’d been allowed passage by Jack’s overbearing security system and crossed the threshold into the lavish home, their states became transcendent. It was more than just a letting down of guards in the face of true privacy. Only having taken several steps across the marble flooring, Rhys almost knocked over some priceless rare crystal from one of the Edens that stood on a pedestal in the foyer, using his cybernetic grip to keep it from slipping. That wasn’t exactly his topmost concern, though. The thick arm locked around his throat most definitely was, flush against his windpipe, threatening to constrict his air at any given moment. 

In one explosive moment of panic, Rhys fought back, thrashing as his rational mind tried to make sense of the situation. Had someone been waiting in the penthouse to ambush them? It was next to impossible to bypass Jack’s security without triggering some alert or other, and within the foyer there was nowhere to hide but the shadows and an overgrown potted fern. Who’d be stupid enough to use a fern for cover? Whoever his captor was, maybe. Which was someone who strangely wasn’t fighting back or tightening their grip on him. 

Then a voice wormed into his ear and Rhys froze at the words.

“Didn’t think a dirty bandit like you’d ever have the smarts to actually make it on to Helios. Of course, maybe not so smart after all, considering I caught you anyway. Question is, what am I gonna do with you, now that I have you here?” 

Sputtering with confusion, Rhys said, “What the hell, Jack?”

“Ut-tut-tut.” Jack’s hand shifted, the chokehold loosening. Warm fingers brushed the hollow of Rhys’ throat, fumbled with the top buttons of his shirt, slipping them open one at a time. About mid-way, Jack lost his patience, tugging at the material until the buttons were pinging against the floor, settling somewhere out of sight with a clatter. Before Rhys could protest about the destruction of his clothing, a wide, meaty palm clamped over his mouth. “That’s _Handsome_ Jack to you, Pandoran scum. Now, no more talking. I’m gonna release you. And when I do? You find my bedroom. It’s the only room that’s not part of the floor plan. Can’t miss it. You strip naked. Make sure you don’t leave your dirty clothing in a gross pile for me to clean up, either, cos ew, bad enough I’m letting you near all my shit. And lastly, I want you to wait for me. On your knees, eyes down, no peeking. Think a savage like you can handle following all that?”

Confusion was bleeding to understanding in Rhys, albeit a hollow kind. Heart pounding out a staccato rhythm in his chest, he felt disconnected from what was unfolding, which made his forehead bead with sweat. Getting Jack to back off and give him a moment to breathe was the only way he could regain his composure. Yet it didn’t work, and he would’ve thought he was suffering from the worse case of vertigo if everything wasn’t so sharply in focus. 

But Rhys nodded anyway, and Jack, true to his word, let him go. A hand lingered on him a moment, caressing his inked pectoral, taking his nipple between index and thumb and giving it a sharp tug. Still lingering in the realm of uncertainty, Rhys had to resist slapping the hand away, making a soft sound instead. Whether it be protest or permission, Jack drew his hand away anyway, teeth finding the soft flesh beneath his jaw, sinking in just shy of the jugular. It wasn’t a hard bite, barely leaving an indentation. But it bore the unspoken claim of dominance and possession. Then Jack was retreating, footsteps heading toward the kitchen area. 

Alright, Rhys could handle this. He had this. Maybe Jack had thrown him into the fray like one would toss a bloodied hunk of meat to a starving pack of skags. Scrambling for a bit was fine. He’d find even ground eventually.

Still, he felt shaky as he made his way through the open structure of the penthouse. Unsure of himself. So much that he paid almost no attention to his environment. He’d only been brought to Jack’s penthouse once before, with its sunken living room complete with enclosed fire pit, its opulent furnishings, and its one-of-a-kind archaeological wonders from across the galaxy; material possessions to be ooed and ahed at, coveted, if one were to get lucky enough to view them. 

The CEO wasn’t much one for priceless artwork, the bedroom housing the extent of his collection, which was the original triptych depicting his greatest accomplishments. Though no doubt saturated in hubris and embellishment, they were surprisingly lowkey for the narcissist, tasteful instead of gaudy in the choice of palette and style. Unlike his last visit, Rhys ignored them as he entered the only room in the penthouse with full walls, shoving off his boots and setting them out of the way. His blazer was next, hung up in Jack’s walk-in closet to keep it tidy, and he shrugged out of his now destroyed button-up. He was tempted to toss it in the trash, but folded it into a neat square instead. His pants were next, joining the pile, which left him in just his socks and briefs. The socks—sheathing his calves up to his knees in twin images of a tropic landscape, the words _this meeting is bullshit_ emblazoned on them—were staying on. Thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, Rhys had almost forgotten his semi-chub from earlier, his lust coming on so sudden and precise in the elevator. Funny enough, what had triggered such an urge in him then was what was balancing him between desire and nerves now. He wanted to laugh, but the thread that he was in a very real situation kept true absurdity at bay.

Briefs set aside with the rest of his wardrobe, Rhys ignored the state of his own dick and eyeballed the bed. The pillows were overabundant, an extravagance in comfort nobody truly needed. He was pretty sure Jack wouldn’t protest his use of one as rugburn prevention and selected one that seemed to sag more than the rest. Choosing a spot at random, he plunked the pillow down on the carpet, rubbed his flesh arm with his cybernetic palm, sighed.

This wasn’t strange, nor was it new to him. Not in the last few months, at least. Vasquez had opened the door for him, and he had set a foot over the threshold out of shear curiosity, stumbled for a few footsteps, nearly tumbled over face first. He’d righted himself. Eventually. And from there? His interest in the lifestyle was beginning to seep out of the crevices he kept it well-wedged in, bleeding into something far less subtle, transforming his desires and preferences into concepts he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure about anymore.

Upon the pillow, Rhys made sure to face the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into the vastness of space, the conglomerate of colors that was Pandora not too far below. The shutters had been left open, inky blackness lit up by uncountable nebula and burning stars. It was a view that was nothing particularly new or different to him, but one he rarely stopped to perceive the beauty of. 

It was hard to tell how much time had passed before Rhys heard footfalls on the carpet. Tension crackled in the air, the subtle sounds of objects being shifted around, of metal jangling. Rhys didn’t dare glance behind him; partially to stoke his anticipation, mostly because of nerves. By the time he could feel the presence at his back, he was nearly trembling, and it wasn’t because the air was chilly. Two thick fingers slid under his chin, lifting it slightly. Moments later, something was being fitted around his neck, tightened, biting into his skin just enough for him to feel the stiff leather material it was made out of.

A palm dug into the junction of his shoulder, massaged the tension in the muscles there, working out a knot so kinked up that the touch was painful. Whimpering, Rhys thought that’d be it, that they would begin whatever array of rituals Jack was planning.

He was wrong.

Jack’s hand drew away, and he said in an absolute deadpan, “You still have your socks on.”

Because he didn’t know if he was allowed to answer, Rhys swallowed hard and simply nodded. 

“You think me telling you to strip naked was a request?” Jack’s voice was too quiet, too calm. It would have probably been less intimidating if he’d been yelling. He clucked his tongue, fingers snarling in Rhys’ hair, tasseling it. “Should’ve known I couldn’t trust a bandit. Guess if I want you obedient, I’m gonna have to train ya. Starting with some good old-fashioned discipline.”

A tug on his scalp drew a burst of expletives from Rhys.

“Bit of a foul mouth too, ain’t ya? I think I got just the thing to fix that.”

Soft and pliant, the mask robbed Rhys of his most valuable sense as it slipped over his eyes. Vision going entirely dark, he felt untethered, adrift in vast nothingness. It only spiked his uncertainty.

Awaiting Jack’s next move, he wasn’t expecting to be fitted with the next piece of equipment. Though he couldn’t see what it was, he knew by the strap encircling his head, the hard rubber sphere pressing tight to his mouth, the pressure forcing his jaw muscles open. 

Somehow it was just one step too far. 

Panic flaring in the face of unease hitting its pinnacle, Rhys gagged and wrenched the ball gag from his mouth, throwing it to the ground. He shoved the eye mask up and off his face, unfolding from the pillow, turning to glare at the man who’d put him in this position.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Though the lights in the room were off, Rhys could make out Jack’s expression. His heterochromatic eyes glittered with a dangerous edge, the corners of his mouth creased in a far from friendly manner

“What exactly do you think _you’re_ doing?” Rhys snapped back, unable to contain the words. 

An ominous flash of teeth from Jack. Without speaking, he stepped forward. It only hardened Rhys’ reservations. His palm collided with Jack’s chest as he stuck a hand out, not pushing back, just keeping him from advancing. A soft dusting of hair brushed his skin, the CEO’s chest expanding and contracting in an increasingly staccato rhythm. 

Jack reached up, dragged the back of his hand against his mouth as if in slow motion. In the quiet wedge of space between them, his breathing was like gunshot.

“Rhys. Take your goddam hand off me. Right now.” 

Rhys drew his hand away as if burned. He did not, however, back away. The chemicals between them were still roiling, impossible to ignore even in a compromised state. 

It was dangerous to provoke a volatile Jack. Rhys knew that as well as any Hyperion employee worth their salt. Maybe even more so, considering. But he couldn’t just walk out, and he couldn’t let the CEO just do as he pleased. His arms went around himself, and he resisted the urge to huddle against the frigid air, something whose presence only seemed to increase as the tension built. Instead he drummed his robotic fingers on his skin, met Jack’s gaze with his composure intact.

“Exactly when were you planning to discuss and negotiate any of this with me?” he said, surprised at how steady his voice was. “You just threw me into it as soon as we walked through your door. I almost want to say with no warning, but I have to give you that, at least. But no discussion of limits? A safe word? Or did you think I’d be into everything you threw at me simply because I showed interest in it?” 

As he spoke, Rhys felt his anxiety churning into something tumultuous. The words came easier, with more conviction. Annoyance was being honed to something sharp and precise, much more so than his earlier annoyance at Jack in the restaurant.

“You’re over-reacting,” Jack replied. “I ain’t gonna do nothing you don’t want me to do. You don’t like the roleplay or the sensory deprivation? Fine, we’ll drop it. Anything else before I waste my time?”

He knew he should have expected Jack to go into defensive mode, to want to push back in the face of confrontation, no matter the subject or how absolutely incorrect he was or how skewed his thoughts were. It was ingrained in the CEO’s very nature, just something that came with the entirety of the Handsome Jack package. And so far, it had been something Rhys found endearing to an extent, that obstinacy and iron will. 

Now? He just wanted to put Jack through a wall. 

“So sorry you consider me being sensible about how I want to be treated as a submissive an inconvenience.” Rhys breathed deep to keep his generally affable nature from bursting into something reserved for vicious business negotiations. “I guess that means you’d prefer a sycophant rather than a subordinate. And in that case, I’m probably not the partner you’re looking for.”

It was probably bold to think Jack would leave it at that. Turning away regardless, Rhys made to gather his clothing and dress as quickly as possible, before hell was shook loose from its very foundations. Jack caught him by his flesh arm before he could unfold a single item, spun him back around. Callused fingers seized him by the jaw, the grip secure enough that it would take effort to break.

Jack’s breath was scalding as he invaded Rhys’ personal space. 

“You don’t really mean that, do you, Rhysie?” Too saccharine, the CEO’s tone only worked to put Rhys more on edge. “We don’t have to do what we were doing. I’ve got other stuff that I bought. We can play any way you like. Talk to me, kitten.”

Rhys _did_ want to talk, if only to tell Jack he had some gall trying to manipulate him. But he never got the chance. The distance between them was closed as Jack’s lips fell upon Rhys’, their mouths sealing together in a kiss that did all in its power to slay any ill will. The younger man found himself caught in its snare, unable to break away, on the verge of desiring more as it teased at that thread of yearning he’d been trying to suppress in the wake of Jack’s discretions. There was a shifting of weight, and Jack’s broad body collided with his, pressing tightly against it. Rigid flesh pressed into Rhys’ thigh, the feel of Jack’s boxer-briefs shifting against his own erection igniting the twin wraths of heat and lust, the garment made out of supple leather, buttery to the touch. The kiss deepened, Jack’s tongue prodding the crevice between Rhys’ lips, gaining entry as his hand found purchase on the jutting angle of a hipbone. His other hand wrapped around the heated shaft of Rhys’ cock, gave it a tug that elicited a muffled gasp. Their mouths broke apart, then, gnashing teeth latching on to Rhys’ ear, clamping down until he was grunting.

“See, now, this is perfectly agreeable, ain’t it?” Jack muttered after letting go. The words sounded amused, his hand drawing off Rhys’ dick, snaking around to grab at his ass, his grip far from gentle. “Maybe you’ll be a bit more reasonable now, eh?” 

Darting in to kiss Rhys again, Jack was more demanding this time, the press of his mouth sloppy, hungry. There was nearly a desperation to it, zealous as it was.

It lasted only a moment.

In a flash of impulse, Rhys was biting down on Jack’s lip, applying more and more pressure until a rush of warm copper flooded his mouth. Jack jerked away, glob of blood bubbling from a split in his lip, looking black in the semi-darkness.

“No,” Rhys said simply, wiping a thin spatter of blood from his mouth. “No, I really won’t.”

It may have been neigh impossible for Jack to look anything but incredulous at the backtalk. It was clear this was far from what he expected, anger warring with a certain edge of begrudging respect. Before he could say anything, though, Rhys was crouching to pick up the objects he’d tossed to the floor.

“Answer me in all honesty,” he said, examining the leather blindfold, running his fingers over its smooth, pliable surface. It was clear that it had been hand-stitched by some fine artisan for maximum comfort and deprivation. No cheap faux products for Jack’s collection. “Is this how you really think a Dom treats their Sub?”

Jack was rubbing his lip, staring at the blood that smudged his fingers then sticking them in his mouth to suck them dry. The younger man watched him with indifference. 

“What?” Jack said after a moment, as if he had forgotten the question. “Course, pumpkin’. I’ve been at this game a long time. I know what I’m doing.”

“Let me guess. No complaints so far, right?”

“Right.” Tilting his head slightly, Jack considered things for a moment. “Can we—can we just get on with this? I know it’s Friday night and all, but now we’re procrastinating, and I’m gonna lose interest soon. Or, well, my goddam dick is, at least. Besides, I got a scuba tour on Aquator in the a.m. with the R&D team. Honestly, though, I think they just want to sneak in a mini-vacation while showing off how well their shock elemental guns work underwater.”

Fist tightening around the ball gag he was wiping off, Rhys was stone-faced as he said, “Pineapple.”

The CEO blinked. 

“Pineapple,” Rhys repeated. “That’s what I want our safe word to be. And as soon as it comes out of your mouth, I explicitly stop. No questions.”

“Wait, _my_ mouth? What do you mean my mouth?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Straightening up, Rhys walked past Jack, toward the man’s dresser. Even in the lack of true lighting he could see the distinct shapes of the objects spread out there. Loops of rope, a bottle of expensive lube, restraints, latex gloves that looked they went up to the elbow, a spreader bar. 

“This is what you were going to use?” he asked, not able to hold his annoyance in check. He picked up a glove, glanced over his shoulder with an obvious look of disgust. “You bought this all without even consulting me about, oh, I don’t know. The things I might not agree to do?”

“Oh please, Rhys.” Having turned to him, Jack was rolling his eyes. He took a step or two forward. “I’ve seen the type of things you’re interested in. What was there to consider? You’re an absolute _freak_.”

Snatching up the spreader bar, Rhys gave a slight shake of his head. 

“That’s not even remotely how this works.” He paused, twirling the bar in his hands. “Not even close. Everything you planned, you were supposed to explicitly consult me about. Where did you even pick up your knowledge, bad ECHOnet porn?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jack snorted. “Where else would I have learned? Does it look like I have time for detailed texts on the subject? Ain’t like it’s anything hard to understand, anyway.”

“Then fine.” The tone Rhys took up was ringed with solid metal, unable to bend in any direction. “I guess there’s no way around this. Go sit down on the bed. Because I don’t think you’re entirely hopeless, and you’ve wedged yourself into my life whether I prefer it that way at this point or not, I’m going to help you out.”

“Come on, Rhys, you’re _crazy_ about being around me.”

“Not at the moment, I’m not. Go sit on the bed.”

“So pineapple, eh?” Jack asked as he padded over to his bed without protest, seeming to be unconcerned with Rhys’ demands, if his compliance was anything to go by. “You really think I’m gonna remember a dumbass word like that? Especially when I try to put it _out_ of my head that some people eat that shit on pizza.”

“You’re pretty calm about this,” Rhys commented as he made selections from the pile, setting some things back down after momentary consideration, like a wine connoisseur doing taste tests. 

“Why shouldn’t I be?” The mattress, encased in a an open clamshell-like frame, barely dipped with the man’s weight. “I told you, Rhysie, this game isn’t unfamiliar to me. You want to tie me up and ride my dick raw, I’m down.”

“By the way, I’m one of them.”

“One…wuh?”

“Who likes pineapple on pizza.” Having crossed to where the other man sat, Rhys still held the spreader bar, thunking one end against his palm like it was some street weapon being prepped for urban warfare. “Let me see your hands.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Jack commented with a roll of his eyes, holding out the requested body parts, Rhys grabbing them and flipping them so his palms were facing downward.

Wedging the metal rod between Jack’s wrists, Rhys secured each hand to it via lengths of rope. They almost weren’t long enough for the task. After all, the CEO hadn’t considered he might be the one being tied to things. The ropes were snug and clumsily secured, but Rhys could wriggle his finger between them and Jack’s flesh, which he figured was satisfactory enough. He turned away then, rubbing a flesh finger against his lip as he considered the other instruments at his disposal.

“Er, pumpkin, what’s the hold up? I’m starting to flag here.”

Rhys shushed him, grabbed up several smaller objects and the bottle of lube. By the time he reached the bed again, Jack was fidgeting. Forehead peppered with sweat, a dollop had rolled down, along the seam of his mask. The younger man raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you ok, Jack?”

“Peachy,” the other man answered.

“Cool. I wouldn’t want to do _anything_ that would make you uncomfortable.”

Squinting, Jack said, “I can’t tell if you’re being genuine with that statement or just throwing shade now.” 

“Jack?”

“Eh?”

“Shutup, please.”

With the band held between the thumb and forefingers of each hand, Rhys wrapped the ball gag around Jack’s head, the silicon sphere forcing his mouth open. He buckled it, not too tightly. He didn’t want Jack to be in total discomfort. There was a muffled noise from the CEO’s throat, Rhys tugging the ball just enough for Jack to get the words out.

“What ‘bout the safe word?” he asked, the edge to his voice too sharp, too thin. Like a straight razor, or a stiletto.

“Oh. Don’t worry about that. Unlike you, I can read when someone’s into something.”

“Ok, that was _definitely_ shade. I think you and I need to have a little talk about—”

Without waiting to hear how the sentence ended, Rhys pushed the ball back into place. Metal jangled as Jack jerked his arms, the gesture quick and agitated. He looked down at the device limiting his movements, as if realizing exactly what it’s purpose was, then shot Rhys the most venomous look he could manage in his compromised state. 

There was a quick solution to that. The other object Rhys had taken was the blindfold, and he slipped it over Jack’s head, completely obscuring his vision.

The sound of Jack’s breathing was growing more staccato, shallower with each breath. Running his fingers through the coarse spattering of hair on his chest, Rhys pressed his palm against the skin there, applied pressure.

“Relax for me,” he told the CEO. “Deep breaths, ok? I really shouldn’t bother, but I’ll walk you through this if I have to. I’m going to help you lie back.”

Though he didn’t expect it, Jack complied without question, the tension in his muscles evident as they quivered beneath Rhys’ touch. The lack of protest told him all he needed to know, though. As he guided Jack down to his back then lifted his legs on to the mattress using his cybernetic strength, he kept a close eye on the other man’s body language. There was no unnatural movement, no locking up in protest or bucking against the restraints. Aside from his chest, still expanding and contracting rapidly, Jack seemed near blissful. 

Staring down at him, Rhys was swept up in admiration for a moment. The chisel of his triangular physique, the toned cording of his leg and arm muscles, the peppering of dark hair on his legs and beneath decent abdominals he didn’t even really need to try hard to achieve. Eyes sliding to the straining bulge in the older man’s boxer-briefs, he remembered what he was doing then, opening the top drawer of the nearby nightstand and removing what he needed.

“You know, Jack, if you really want to be a good Dom, you should learn to take constructive criticism.” As Rhys spoke, the bed dipped with his weight, Jack flinching slightly as he coiled his tall, lanky form around him, searching out a good position. “Like, if you want to be dominant, you have to learn what it’s like to be subordinate. Put yourself in the other’s shoes and see what role suits you more.” Manipulating Jack’s arms, he set them above his head. “Keep those there, ok? I mean, though, that’s what—someone taught me that. When I was a noob at this stuff.”

Turning his head toward Rhys’ voice, Jack made a noise that sounded vaguely like a question. Ignoring it, Rhys transferred the object in his hand to his metal digits, found the hidden clasp of Jack’s leather underwear. There was a deep, audible breath from the other man as his cock sprung forth from the tight material, the girthy flesh flushed red from the combined efforts of constriction and arousal. He shifted his hips, began to lower his arms before seeming to realize what he was doing. There was a loud rattle as they flopped back down to either side of his head. Satisfied Jack was intent on behaving, Rhys gave his cock a squeeze with his cybernetic fingers, eliciting a gasp, before his hand traveled upward, smoothing along musculature, coming, finally, to a nipple. He squeezed and tugged, until Jack’s back was bowing off the bed. Not much, but Rhys was satisfied. He directed his attention to what he’d removed from the nightstand, one of them a metal circlet, which he slipped down to the base of Jack’s cock without much ceremony. The CEO shifted, swallowing so hard Rhys almost felt a lump in his own throat. There was no denying Jack was out of his element, trying hard not to give in, to show he could take whatever the younger man threw at him. Rhys was not without mercy, and he almost reconsidered, almost lost his nerve.

But then Jack would never learn. His ignorance would go unchecked and fester, even more so than it already had in his years. 

And if Rhys wanted to continue to be the CEO’s lover, it was pertinent he correct that.

“I know you probably don’t appreciate being penetrated,” Rhys spoke up. “So I won’t do that to you. I mean, unless you give me the ok. Anything else is fair game. Definitely nothing extreme. I’m not going to—I don’t know why certain people do those types of things.” Realizing he was starting to ramble, Rhys grabbed up the toy he’d acquired from the drawer, lubed up the opening on one of its ends to focus himself on something, then commented, “Of course you’d have the see-through model.”

Jack’s confusion was evident in the way his brow furrowed and how he seemed to be staring at Rhys despite the blindfold. A soft sound passed from behind the gag, not quite a question, and not an inquiry. That all changed when Rhys pressed the opening of the toy to the other man’s cock, applying pressure until it was slipping over the head, engulfing it in its artificial confines. The deep groan of pleasure was undeniable even with it being mostly contained in Jack’s throat, his hips bucking sharply and quickly. Blindfolds always did seem to make everything that more intense, Rhys could relate, the uncertainty and anticipation snowballing until it was assuaged. However, that didn’t stop Rhys from immediately withdrawing. He splayed his robotic fingers on Jack’s thigh, trying to still him while the other man made a sound of protest.

“I know it’s not really easy for you to listen and let someone else take the reins,” he said. “I don’t even think it occurs to you that you’re so bad at it. And I’m fine with that on the average. I can understand a control freak. But tonight, you’re not going to get off if you don’t listen to me. Now stop moving.”

After a beat, Jack’s muscles seemed to relax all at once. Though he did nothing to indicate he’d comply, Rhys adjusted his position on the bed, the air so still the friction of his socks against each other sounded deafening. He gave Jack’s balls a caress, letting his digits trail lower, down to the man’s perineum, watching as the other man’s toes dug into the over-two-hundred-thread count sheets, the pastel yellow material wrinkling with tension that mimicked that which was in the air. Then he was fitting the silicone sleeve over Jack’s dick again, teasing giving way to deep, encompassing strokes. Shaft flushed, almost appearing angry itself as it was swallowed nearly to the base, Jack’s pelvic muscles quivered, eager to thrust but having to refrain. The whimpers and sighs could barely be heard through Jack’s gag. He could get up from the bed at any time, make it end. Hell, even hurt Rhys if he wished. It wouldn’t take much effort to lock that spreader bar around Rhys’ throat and strangle the air out of his lungs, blindfolded or not. But Jack didn’t, allowing the younger man free reign. 

At this point, Rhys was beginning to wonder if perhaps Jack really did have a bit of a subordinate streak after all. There hadn’t been much expectation. This was all about giving the CEO a taste of his own medicine, as well as _actually_ disciplining him. Chiseling through Jack’s formidable barriers to discover the deeper veins of his desires had not been the goal. But if it accidentally yielded those results?

“You can be such a cliche sometimes,” Rhys found himself blurting aloud, hoping it wouldn’t prompt Jack to do anything rash. Things could end up being the equivalent of poking a rakk hive with a sharp stick. Despite that, he ventured further. “One of the most powerful people in the galaxy, plays the dominant role, but just wants someone to take control for once.” He hummed, thrusting the toy against Jack slower, finally letting it bottom out, holding it there while the man squirmed and groaned. “I _really_ didn’t peg you for the trusting type. Or am I the first one to try this kind of thing?”

Beneath him, Jack shifted as if he were about to sit up, and he wondered if he’d gone too far. Garbled, broken noises tried to escape the CEO’s mouth. It was clear he was trying to speak. Rhys pushed the gag up, drool glistening on Jack’s lips, seeping down his chin as he took a deep breath.

“You are _definitely_ not the first, kiddo. And I can take a lot more than what you’re dishing out.”

Gag snapped back in place, Rhys considered the words, answered, “That’s…interesting. Alright, then. I’ll be right back.”

The toy was slipped off Jack’s cock with a wet, slick sound, the man’s hips arching off the bed at the sudden loss. Moving to where he’d left the rest of Jack’s stash of playtime goodies, Rhys was quick in his selection. Perhaps not quick enough, though. By the time he was approaching the bed again, Jack had worked himself into a sitting position, was swinging his legs off the mattress. Acting swiftly, Rhys took the leather riding crop he’d acquired in hand, bringing it down on the meat of Jack’s thigh with a hard swat. The CEO’s body jerked as if startled and he went still.

“Hey, I didn’t say you could get up.” Voice like a whip crack, Rhys’ tone softened slightly. “But since you are, you think you can stand for me? Pretty sure you don’t need my help.”

As he expected, Jack had no trouble getting to his feet. However, he did seem to struggle with where to put his arms. They were still locked to the spreader bar, and his erection, which jutted out, impressive in length and glistening with precum, seemed to get in the way of resting them comfortably. It gave Rhys a bit of a chuckle, despite everything, and he watched in amusement as Jack finally maneuvered into a workable position. 

Touching the tail end of the crop to the head of Jack’s cock, Rhys dragged it downward, along the sensitive underside of the shaft. The other man shuddered and hissed in a muffled breath. 

“You know, you really are being obedient. Mostly. I think you can manage without being gagged. How about you?” 

Not a moment dragged by. Jack was nodding, Rhys moving him forward a step or two so he could remove the device from behind. He tossed it away, where it hit the bed, pressing close to Jack afterward, leaning in to feel the other man’s musculature against his chest, imbibing the scent of his skin, his hair. Pine tar and terran scents flooded his senses, overlaid with something smoky and artificial, yet still pleasant. The intimacy made Rhys’ mouth dry, made the blood surge and burn in his veins. He nuzzled the back of Jack’s neck, unable to help himself, his own erection pressing against Jack’s ass, leaving a damp smear. The muscles in the CEO’s throat tensed, working as he swallowed hard. He kept silent, though, letting Rhys continue as he pleased.

Until the younger man’s fingers tangled in his hair, combing through it, wrenching it just enough for it to border on painful. 

At that, it was clear Jack became agitated. He shifted his weight, took a sharp intake of breath, grunted. Still, he didn’t say anything, and Rhys didn’t let go.

“Shit, Jack,” he purred in the other man’s ear. His hand roamed without thought, caressing the smooth and flawless cheek of Jack’s mask, fingers brushing against one of the clasps. “You turn me on too much like this.”

“Fuck,” Jack finally spat out, voice nearly cracking with the strain. “_Pineapple_.”

It took a moment for the word to register, as if it still lingered unheard. When it did, Rhys put immediate distance between them, blinking in confusion of what he might’ve done to invoke the use of the word.

“Just—Just don’t touch the face, ‘kay?” Jack muttered, the words nearly swallowed up by grit. “Hair, either. Head’s off limits.”

“You need a sec?”

Jack snorted, baring his teeth. “No.”

Having to wonder what lie beneath the mask to make Jack so obviously distressed, Rhys resisted the impulse to ask, or at least make a wry comment. It was clear Jack wasn’t just trying to be mysterious. That voice had sounded shaken in a way the younger man had never heard from the CEO before. Not that they’d been seeing each other that long.

Returning to the spot before Jack, Rhys tapped him on the chest with the crop. 

“Good,” he said. Tips of his fingers digging into the man’s shoulder, he kneaded the muscle there, trying to ease the tension out of him. “Too bad you didn’t think to buy an Andrew’s Cross or anything. That could have made for a fun night. Not that you could put it anywhere inconspicuous with this place’s layout.” Pausing, Rhys seemed invigorated when he spoke next, bordering on gleeful. “Maybe I can drag you down to one of the bondage-themed orgy pits. Then everyone who runs into us will find out that Handsome Jack lets his partners parade him around by the dick.” Rhys pulled away, face contorting into something thoughtful as he tapped the crop’s swatter against his flesh palm. “No, maybe that’s too mean.”

“I have something you could use,” Jack spoke up, voice hoarse. 

Rhys folded his arms across his chest, not having expected the other man to say anything. Raising an eyebrow, he remembered that Jack couldn’t see him, prompting a rolling, “Go on. You don’t have a hidden dungeon by any chance, do you?”

“In the walk-in. There’s a portable massage chair. You can use the ropes with it. If…if you want, Rhys.”

The use of his actual name gave Rhys pause. That and the fact that Jack was actively not using a pet name. The seriousness of the situation permeated the room, seeped into every pocket of air and invaded every thought. The words that came from the CEO’s mouth were so absolute that Rhys was convinced his scheme had backfired. Still, that didn’t mean the evening was ruined. Denied retaliation, the younger man decided to maneuver with the turning of the tide, forgetting, for those moments, that Jack had manhandled him just under an hour ago. He padded over to the closet, the space before him large enough that he could rummage for hours and still discover new trinkets and baubles Jack had tossed away to collect dust. Luckily for him, the chair was in an obvious spot, next to a plethora of ties that looked like they had never been unfolded and a retro movie poster for _Forbidden Galaxy_ that had someone’s chicken-scratch signature on it. As far as old films went, that one was rather artsy, and something Rhys would have pegged Jack for thinking was too dorky and pretentious. Perhaps that’s why he had hidden it here, among the things deemed too unimportant to display but too valuable to discard. 

Taking up the heavy chair in his robotic grip, he dragged it out and unfolded the sturdy structure on the carpet, surprised to find Jack exactly as he’d left him. With one hand on the CEO’s arm, and his robotic one on his hip, he guided him over, helping him maneuver himself out of his undergarments and on to the unnatural seat. It was on a slant, the main support beam meant to be straddled rather than rested on. In this backwards position, the angle was extreme, Jack’s head cradled against the horseshoe-shaped cushion designed for him to rest his face on so the masseuse could freely get at his neck and shoulders.

It didn’t look at all comfortable, but Rhys wasn’t too concerned. Jack’s mouth was perfectly unbound at this point. He could use the safe word again if he decided to. Not that Rhys expected him to now that he already had. The other man’s pride might wither and die if he did, and he would never allow it the chance.

Because he hadn’t a clue how to tie a proper bondage knot, Rhys had to rely on the ECHOnet for guidance. Using his palm, he opened several sources, including in-depth how-to videos that he had to mute. With careful precision, he began with the spreader bar that Jack was still locked to, unwinding one of the loops of silk rope, tying one end to a tab built into the center of the device, running it down towards the floor and looping it twice around the circumference of his spread ankles. From there, the maneuvers became trickier, the structure of it all a little more convoluted. When he was done, the resulting network looked like a spiderweb of sorts, one made of taut, knotted lines that bound Jack to the chair by his chest and legs, keeping him anchored in place. If he dared to try and fight the binds, he’d only succeed in tipping himself over and injuring himself. There was hope that the man wasn’t quite that dense, considering he’d kept still so far.

Stepping back to admire his work, Rhys gave the bound man a long once-over. It was shocking how quiet he continued to remain, the only sound coming from him the shift of his weight on the leather cushions and his steady breathing.

“Something’s missing,” Rhys mused, and he padded away, already knowing what he was after. 

It didn’t take him long to find what he was searching for. He knew Jack would have an abundance of them somewhere, even though pushing papers on Helios was as archaic as tube-based screens or writing longhand. Prizes in his grasp, Jack shifted in his seat as Rhys’ stockinged footsteps whisked against the carpet towards him. A tongue poked from his lips, skirted against them. It made the younger man reach for the bottle of water on the nightstand and tilt the mouthpiece so that Jack could suck down a few sips. He hissed out a breath as it was taken away.

Squeezing the bulldog clip in his fingers open, Rhys hardly gave him a moment. The plastic piece was fitted over one of the man’s nipples, released a moment later so that it clamped closed on it. Hard. A startled yelp pierced the air, followed by a _shit, Rhys_ said on a rush of breath. A couple more consonants and vowels tumbled from Jack’s mouth, clashing together, forming wordless noises. 

“Hush,” the younger man told him, opting for a deadpan. “Don’t make me have to put that ball gag back on you.”

Patience not in his repertoire at the moment, Rhys pinched open the second clip, attaching it to the other nipple. Muscles and bindings combined went taut as Jack grit his teeth, resisting the urge to squirm like some trophy catch. The last of the clips was larger than the other two, and this one Rhys regarded for a moment, debating its use. Mercy was not something he was devoid of, so he reached between Jack’s legs, caressed his balls as a pleasant interlude, allowing the CEO to revel in his touch.

But, like any interlude, the moment met its end. Jack’s voice crescendoed as Rhys snapped the final clip on to his scrotum, the man pulling in earnest at the ropes now.

“Sonuvabitch!” he yelped out, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. “You are—” Mid-sentence, his voice became a wordless growl. He snorted. “I could just _strangle_ you right now, Rhysie.”

“You literally can’t.” 

Air whistled between Jack’s teeth, sounding ferocious. “Then next opportunity. Whenever. I’m gonna—_heh_—bloody kill ya.” 

“You won’t.” Proud of the confidence in his own voice when he spoke those words, how much he truly believed them, Rhys pressed on. “What you _are_ going to do is calm down for me.” He put his flesh palm to Jack’s chest, fingers smoothing down the hair there. “Take deep breaths. Even out your breathing.”

“Like bloody hell I will, sweetheart.”

Without opening it, Rhys took the grip of one of the bulldog clips on Jack’s nipples and yanked it off. A howl tore through the older man, the chair shifting with his sudden movements. Swiftly, Rhys did the same with the other clip, causing a burst of expletives.

It took some time for Jack to regain his composure. Allowed to do so, Rhys ignored the clip still attached to the man’s balls, finding the riding crop once more, dragging it along the shaft of Jack’s cock. The tip was wet, a shallow pool of precum gathered atop it. The tab of the crop passed over it, smearing it along the head, the leather coming away attached by a gossamer strand of liquid that eventually broke from the tension.

“Enjoying yourself?” Rhys remarked, fascinated with Jack’s obvious arousal despite the treatment he was enduring. He continued without waiting for an answer, “You’re really turning out to be more open-minded than I pegged you for, Jack. I can’t say I ever gazed at one of your posters, thinking, _oh, he probably really enjoys being a submissive bitch in the bedroom on occasion_. Then again, that was before I’d slept with the real deal.”

“Yeah?” Nearly breathless, Jack’s voice dropped to a murmur. “You’re not just any plain old subordinate.”

“I didn’t catch that.” The CEO’s chin propped against his chest, Rhys shifted the end of the crop under it, tilting his head up. “Do you want to tell me again?”

“You’re….” Jack’s swallow was loud enough to be audible. “You’re my special boy.”

He tried, desperately, not to let that go straight to his head, Rhys. It was like a shot of pure adrenaline flooding his bloodstream, enhancing and amplifying all in its path. His dick even responded, throbbing at the tidbit of praise. More than a tidbit. He knew Jack never used words like that lightly, was more quick to call the average person a schmuck or asshole, even if he liked them. That he graced Rhys with something so difficult to bear _meant_ things.

Rhys might have jumped him then and there, might have climbed right in his lap and slid himself down on the cock awaiting his presence and fulfilled both their lascivious urges. Instead he closed his eyes, letting the euphoria run its course and settle somewhere deep in the crevices of his mind. When he’d regained his grip, he exchanged the crop for something sharper, more dangerous. 

A hiss from Jack. He froze as the smallish blade pressed against his throat, flat of it flush to his jugular; so much threat in a non-threatening manner. It was surprising how Jack, normally wary and high-strung, didn’t so much as protest. There was such unspoken, inherent trust in the behavior, something the CEO was barely capable of. Any moment Rhys could turn this deadly, slip the blade beneath the skin, drag it across Jack’s throat and give him a brand new grin. Of course, he didn’t, opting merely to tease the threat of violence. The breath that erupted from Jack’s throat was rapid, almost ragged as Rhys traced his collarbone with the tip of the weapon, sweat cropping up on his forehead in a thin sheen, locks of hair beginning to cling to it. 

The blade slipped down Jack’s sternum, too much pressure applied, a thin strip of blood beading in the wake of the scratch. 

“Oh, er…oops,” Rhys said, pondering just how sharp the knife might be, considering Jack was the one who’d been meaning to use it on _him_. 

The blindfold was a blessing. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to witness the intensity of Jack’s gaze in that moment, and he just _knew_ the man was attempting to glare daggers at him.

“Just a scratch,” he said quickly. “It won’t even leave a mark.”

There was a moment where he expected things to erupt into something volatile, Jack rabid and unsoothable, snapping at him in his confines like a tethered beast trying to get at unreachable prey. But he didn’t, his lips clamping into a thin, hard line, droplets of sweat cutting slow paths down his mask and dripping on to his clammy chest. His state of mind couldn’t be fathomed, and Rhys wasn’t about to do any deep diving. Striving for a gentler touch, he continued along the planes of Jack’s body, moving slowly, Jack squirming on occasion, shuddering and grunting on others, choking down the most natural of his instincts: to strike back and subdue.

Pressing onward, Rhys passed Jack’s navel, stopped again just above the dark thatch of hair at the man’s groin. 

“Careful with the goods,” came Jack’s strained voice. And in it, Rhys could hear the timbre of bravado, the tremor that told him far more than any safe word could.

With his ECHOeye, he could be as precise as any surgeon, dance Jack on the precipice of a mauling without ever worrying about making the wrong move. But there was always that margin for human error, his own wariness feeding off Jack’s. In the end, he merely dragged the flat of the blade along the shaft, careful to avoid any of the sharp ends, and even that made Jack’s breath labored; made it hitch, his vulnerability on full display.

It may have simultaneously been the most heady and nerve-wracking thing Rhys had ever done in the bedroom. 

The thought was pushed aside, the blade drawn away so that he could start working at the ropes that kept Jack’s hands secured to the spreader bar. It would take some effort to saw through them. Enough time for the CEO to center himself. It was a blessing Jack hadn’t gone the extra mile and picked up bondage shears. Not that Rhys really expected Jack to be pro-active when it came to safety.

Once one hand was free, the younger man knew he had to be cautious. Pent up and emotionally strung-out, Jack was like a wild animal being released from captivity, confused about its newfangled environment. Yet curious, ready to attack or defend at a moment’s notice. So when a callused hand brushed his skin, alongside his ribcage, Rhys felt his heart pick up speed. It wasn’t enough to make him shy away or even stop working through the rope. However, he did remain vigilant, focusing on the fingers fumbling at his skin, feeling out their way to his ass. Blunt nails bit into the muscle there as Jack palmed the cheek, over-sized appendages reaching, ghosting over Rhys’ hole. Teasing penetration. Rhys hoped to god the man wouldn’t attempt anything without lube. Otherwise the knife in his hand was about to be used for more than titillation.

“You wanna fuck me, Rhysie?” Jack asked, voice low and heavy, rolling off his tongue like liquid metal. It sent Rhys reeling, the knife in his hand almost slipping away. “I’d let you, ya know.”

If souls could sweat, Rhys’ would be drenched in perspiration. The words burned through his core, turning everything molten. Even so, he managed to get through the rope, unthreaded it from the hook and let the spreader bar fall away. Next, he reached for the bulldog clip still clamped to Jack, gently removing it from his balls without much protest. The man must have gone numb to the sensation long ago. As he was distracted, Rhys didn’t quite feel the hand feeling along the expanse of his abdomen, down his thigh, a thumb clumsily pressing into his own scrotum before engulfing his cock in its warm, rough embrace.

“Shit, you’re even harder than usual, ain’t ya?” Slowly, Jack worked Rhys with corkscrew strokes, the younger man’s hips twitching, a soft sound passing from his lips as the large palm twisted around him. “Being the one in charge get you riled up? You like the idea of getting to stick your dick in Handsome Jack?”

Untethered, his bindings loose, Jack let Rhys go, unfolded from his seat, unsteady as he groped around for something to support his weight. He could’ve removed the blindfold, didn’t. Instead, he found purchase on Rhys, hand slipping along his neck, fingers slotting against the hollow of his throat. But his grip didn’t clamp closed, didn’t become a living noose. 

It brought Rhys back to himself. Flushed a bright pink from the center of his chest upward, he grabbed Jack’s wrist with his robotic hand, metal digits clamping securely around the tattoo there. 

“I didn’t give you the ok to get up, Jack,” he said simply, evenly, anchoring himself as he pushed back.

He expected Jack to resist, despite his earlier words. To at least insist on getting his fingers a little tighter around Rhys’ neck before he let go. So it was surprising when he allowed Rhys to pry him away and guide his hand back down to his side. Rolling the cock ring off of the older man, hearing him sigh at the slight pinch of constriction, Rhys thought, despite the origins of his efforts, that perhaps it was okay to let the CEO manipulate the situation from here. There wasn’t exactly much at stake. 

“You’ve been such a good boy for me,” he praised after some hesitation. “I guess I could reward you.”

Salvaging what he could of the severed ropes, Rhys hung on to the smaller bits, grasped Jack’s arms one at a time, guiding them behind his back, waiting for the moment of resistance that never reared. After he’d secured the CEO’s wrists together, remembering the technique, decisions needed to be made. If Jack had owned a saw horse, it could’ve worked to Rhys’ advantage. But he didn’t, and that left a necessity to get creative.

Over the massage chair would be too faulty. It wasn’t secured and they’d probably tip it over. The bed, too comfortable. Rhys supposed there was also Jack’s desk in the space of the penthouse that served as his home office. They’d covered that territory before, though. More than once. Of course, it’d been Rhys over the desk and not Jack. But frankly, the connotations of such actions didn’t appeal to him as much as it did the CEO. 

There was always the floor. Sure, it was unrefined and there’d be rugburn, but those weren’t exactly flaws.

As the answer came to him, Rhys gave Jack’s ass a light smack, causing the man to grunt and shift his weight. Otherwise, he remained in place, calm, ready to follow the younger man’s guidance. Removing the collar from his own throat, Rhys adjust the strap for a larger wearer, looped it around Jack’s neck. The man’s lips parted, as if he were about to protest. Then his jaw was snapping shut, lips twisting as the leather tightened against his throat. One articulated finger hooking through the loop in its center, Rhys gave a gentle tug, closing the wedge of distance between them. 

This time, when he leaned in to press his lips to Jack’s, it came from genuine desire. He was careful not to initiate too much contact, keeping his flesh hand at Jack’s hip, the divot in the other man’s lip where Rhys had bitten him earlier now scabbed over as his tongue skated past it and into the CEO’S mouth. The kiss didn’t linger, Rhys pulling away before Jack could be drawn deeper into it. He was grabbing up the bottle of lube and leading Jack out of the bedroom before he could lose the nerve. With the CEO clumsy in his blindness, hesitant on his feet, it took longer than Rhys would’ve liked to make it to the kitchen. Upon entering, the lights came up, bathing everything in a momentary harsh glare before they settled to a comfortable dimness. A moment’s consideration, and Rhys was turning them even dimmer, simulating the muted dusks of planetside life.

When he turned back to Jack, the man was fidgeting, bare toes curling against the tiling beneath them, dark leg hairs standing on end. After realizing the floor was temperature-controlled by the warmth radiating through his socks, Rhys asked, “Your feet cold?”

“Yeah….”

“Oh.” Rhys smirked to himself, glad Jack couldn’t see it. Otherwise he may have been in for a throttling. “That’s too bad, I guess. Come here. Watch you don’t bump your hip.”

Of course, Jack couldn’t watch anything as Rhys led him around the center island. He made an annoyed noise as he slammed right into it.

“That was my fault,” the younger man admitted, rubbing the CEO’s side with a ginger touch. “Sorry about that.”

“Jeez, Rhysie, what the hell you tryin’ to exactly do to me?”

Halting Jack’s momentum, Rhys shook his head. Then he grasped Jack by the back of the collar, using all his strength to flatten the man’s upper half against the island’s countertop. As he squirmed, there was a winded sound followed by a quiet growl.

“Someone’s forgetting their place,” came Rhys’ remark. “Maybe I _do_ need to gag you again.”

That silenced Jack. He went still, allowing himself to melt against the cool surface. Letting him go, Rhys stroked his fingers down the notches of his spine, the thin skin twitching and flexing beneath his touch. He stopped at the cleft of Jack’s ass, clucking his tongue as felt the slight tremors there.

“You seem so nervous, Jack.” Shifting closer, Rhys pressed himself flush to the man’s rear, his erection poking into the pliable flesh. “Afraid you might start preferring me this way?”

Stifling a groan, the man let silence linger for a few heartbeats. His companion was patient, leaning forward only slightly. Eventually Jack nodded, the gesture subtle. There was the sound of a cap being opened, a few soft, slick noises. The CEO felt something damp grace his skin, though indirectly, tensing up. With a chuckle, Rhys gave him a moment or two to relax again. But that was all. Soon he was drawing back, enough for him to move his hand between their bodies, lubed fingers finding Jack’s hole, encircling it. With his free hand, he up-ended the bottle, the older man flinching as liquid trickled down his skin, past where Rhys’ fingers were, rolling in streams down his balls to drizzle on the floor. More than enough substance to work with, the younger man teased at Jack’s entrance until he felt it was adequately slickened. Then he was plunging a single digit in, feeling the muscles give way to allow him entry.

Jack’s reaction was immediate. 

“God, that’s—that’s your—fuck!”

“Some people prefer them,” Rhys replied, pushing his metal finger even deeper. “Robophiles, usually. You can always use the safe word if you don’t.”

“No,” Jack rumbled, back arching as Rhys teased a second digit. The older man didn’t know whether he wanted to inch away or push back. “Oh, shit!”

He probably should have been taking things slower, probably should have given someone like Jack more time to adjust. But Rhys had to admit: his own lust was starting to get the better of him, seize his control and hesitancy as it wrapped him in a warm, enticing embrace. The breaths coming from Jack were beginning to grow heavy as Rhys let the tip of his second finger slip in alongside his other finger. Even without being able to feel the same amount of pressure that his flesh appendages would have, he knew it was a tight fit. By far, it couldn’t be the most comfortable thing. It was borderline impressive how well and calmly Jack was taking it even when the fingers drove deeper, seeking out his most sensitive places.

That all turned itself on its head when Jack cried out and uttered, “Enough.” Stopping his advances but doing nothing else in the wake of the lack of official safe word usage, Rhys waited as the older man panted a few times. “No more fingers. I don’t wanna—I just…I want you to fuck me. Now. Please.”

His voice was strained, the desperation evident. Drawing his hand back, Rhys let his fingers slip out, Jack tensing at the last minute, making the task more difficult as the bulky appendages were all but crushed. He wiped said hand on the man’s buttock, leaving a glistening trail, leaning closer to Jack’s ear.

“I guess I can oblige,” Rhys said, barely above a whisper. He wrapped his already lubed cock in his fist, slipping it between Jack’s asscheeks, grinding against the skin without penetrating, his breath hot and harsh. “Since you’re being so obedient for me and said please and all. I might be a little too much for you, though. You didn’t let me finish prepping your ass.”

“I can take it, Rhysie. I…it’ll feel so good for you. C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’ here.”

Swallowing hard to keep himself centered, Rhys shut his eyes for a moment, said on a breath, “Of course. Anything for _my_ special boy.” 

Teeth clamped down on Jack’s ear, then, catching the shell in a steadfast grip as if Rhys was suffering from lockjaw. Fumbling between them, the head of his cock found purchase on Jack’s entrance, prodded at it, began to push inside until most of it was engulfed.

Beneath him, Jack bucked and clamped down, causing Rhys to gasp sharply as the man’s muscles became a vice. He released Jack’s ear, bearing his weight down on the man’s bound wrists, holding him flush to the counter as the remainder of his cockhead was worked forcibly inside him.

“Oh, fuck.” Jack’s voice sounded like it had been wrangled, the deep noise of pleasure that escaped on its back becoming labored. “That feels….” He trailed off, jaw going slack, a stream of drool forming on his lips, spilling over on to the surface beneath him.

“Are you ready for more?” Rhys asked, letting him calm down a bit.

“God, _yes_. I want all of your dick inside me, Rhysie.”

And who was Rhys to deny him? Swept up in the CEO’s passion, he felt like a live current that hadn’t been grounded. Admittedly, he’d tumbled into Jack’s desires, bound to the web they wove.

“Stop calling me that,” he barked, surprised at the sharpness in his own tone as he yanked back on the other man’s arms. “Do you think you can handle something more respectable?” 

His hips thrust forward slightly, his cock slipping into Jack’s tight muscles even deeper. 

Where his sweat had cooled earlier, the older man had broken out in a fresh sheen, his skin growing tacky.

“Yeah. Alright. I can handle that…sir.”

“Better. _Much_ better.” Another pointed jab of Rhys’ hips jolted the other man’s muscles, making them spasm around his dick. The feeling sent the heat in his groin boiling. He almost slipped forward, gasping as if the air in his lungs had been seized. “You’re pretty good at being my bottom bitch, Jack.”

There was no objection to the word usage. He had been sure whatever force that was keeping Jack’s pride subdued would only extend so far, collapsing, eventually, under strain. Rhys had a need to know where the limits laid, but his casual prodding was proving fruitless. For some time, he just stood there, letting the other man adjust around him, his own restraint barely in check. Not being the role he preferred, it had been a good while since he’d had the pleasure of topping anyone. Certainly never anyone as powerful and intimidating as Handsome Jack. Such, it was difficult not to just fully sheath his cock inside the man, feel that warm, euphoric embrace as the scales of power tipped too far to the wrong side.

Jack’s fidgeting brought him back. It was hard to tell how long Rhys had been in whatever headzone he’d just experienced. Clearly long enough for the other man to grow impatient. Though it was debatable how long, in reality, such could take for Jack. The man had the attention span of a goldfish at times. Others? There were horror stories of him extracting revenge well beyond the scope of a reasonable time frame. Whatever the case, Rhys shuffled backwards instead of advancing, Jack whining at the loss and attempting to give chase.

“What the fuck?” he uttered, frustrated. “The hell you doing, you goddam tease?” 

Pausing, Rhys said, “Excuse me?” The hair was off-limits. He knew as much. That didn’t stop him from grabbing a fistful of it in his robotics and yanking the CEO’s head back. “What did you just say to me?”

“Sorry, sorry. Just slipped off my tongue, Rhy-I mean, sir.”

“Make sure I don’t hear anything like that again. Or there’ll be consequences.”

Released, Jack’s head flopped down, lolling to the side. A groan started deep in chest as he felt the head of the younger man’s dick slip out of him, ultimately depriving him of his desire. 

But he wasn’t prepared for Rhys’ next move. Fingers curling into fists in their bindings, the groan rose in octave, became an outright wail as searing, hard flesh rapidly speared him again. This time Rhys didn’t ease in or cease mid-way. He didn’t pause until he’d hilted, either, the entirety of his length sending Jack squirming as it settled against his prostate, the younger man’s balls slamming against his ass. Using Jack’s wrists for leverage, Rhys ground his hips against the man’s hole, his unoccupied hand shifting along his thigh to wrap securely around his straining, neglected erection. Precum eased the path of his fingers as they slipped along the shaft, his palm tightening at times, wrangling delicious noises from both flesh and the other man’s mouth. In an attempt to thrust against the sensation, Jack found himself caged in between Rhys’ body and the edge of the counter, barely any room for him to find adequate relief. Like a wounded animal, he whimpered, all too aware of how pathetic he probably sounded.

A metal hand came down on Jack’s upper back with a hard _thwack_, patting the drenched skin there. Moving in tandem with the way he jerked the older man’s cock, he found a rhythm with his hips, his thrusts kept shallow and controlled. Despite the lack of deep penetration, it was enough to churn the cogs in the man underneath him’s libido. Breath coming in pants, it took several false starts for Jack to be able to form words.

“Are ya just gonna go easy on me or what?”

“Shush.” Shifting the hand gripping the man’s dick to his balls, he got a secure grip on them, gave a sharp tug, Jack yelping at the sudden bite of pain. “_That’s_ me going easy. I could always put those clips back on. Is that what you’d prefer me to do?”

“No. Th—this is fine.”

Rhys snorted. His fingers groped and kneaded Jack’s scrotum for a bit before shifting back to his shaft. He tightened his fist even as his movements picked up force, his cock pushing deeper and deeper still inside the CEO. Soon the constant noise of bodies colliding filled the kitchen, Rhys’ shallow breaths growing ever more ragged, little hiccups of ecstasy escaping him as his balls beat out a tempo against the body under him. He could feel Jack’s cock twitching and pulsating against his palm, the moans coming from him entrenched in unadulterated pleasure.

“Fuck,” Jack cried, balls drawing up close to his body, muscles crushing Rhys’s length as they began to tighten. “That feels so fucking—goddam it!” 

Jack was gasping for breath. Barely able to draw it, his lips skinned back form his clenched teeth, face contorted into a ferocious grimace. A cybernetic arm wound around the front of his throat, wrenching his head back as Rhys leaned over him, hips rapidly pistoning, cock all but assaulting his prostate. The counter edge bit into the stretch of flesh between Jack’s navel and groin as he was battered against it. There was sure to be bruising to show for it later. 

“Fuck me, sir,” he croaked out. “Motherfu—oh, god. Don’t you dare stop. Yer gonna make me blow my freakin’ load.”

Quiet as they were, the words that slithered out of Rhys’ mouth in such a dulcet, seductive tone sounded explosive in Jack’s ear. 

“Go for it.” He gave the man’s cock a powerful squeeze, pumping the tight tunnel his fist made along the shaft, milking it. “Cum for me, Jack.”

A strangled howl broke from Jack’s throat, becoming a bellow that went on and on. Against Rhys’ hand, thick, long spurts of jism erupted, coating his digits, splattering against the costly material of the kitchen island, some of it collecting on the floor in a messy puddle. Rhys fucked him through his orgasm, squeezing his arm ever tighter around the man’s throat, building tension in his own body like a bowstring. It wasn’t long before he was passing the point of no return himself, tumbling over the threshold as the tension snapped, his cries ragged as his hips slammed against Jack’s ass and he released inside him. So intense was the load, he could feel his cum dribbling out between the seal their entwined bodies made, dripping in rivulets down their heated, over-stimulated flesh. Realizing he still had Jack in a light chokehold, he drew his arm away quickly, feeling slightly guilty as a shudder roiled through him from head to groin.

Jack coughed once, fought to catch his breath along with Rhys, the two of them gasping and panting in near unison. For awhile, neither of them moved nor spoke, only the occasional sigh or grunt escaping either of them. Finally Rhys was starting to feel the strain in his back and legs as he came down, and he knew by the way Jack’s thighs and knees quivered as if he were freezing that, if not for the counter, Jack wouldn’t be upright. He pulled back then, slowly drawing his cock out of the other man with a satisfied hiss, more cum drooling out now that there was no longer a barrier to keep it plugged in.

His hand drew off Jack’s length and he brought his fingers to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the thick dollops of pearly cum staining them. Face screwing up, he made a slight gagging sound.

“Yeah,” he drawled, voice hoarse and lethargic. “You definitely need more pineapple in your diet.”

Jack tilted his head in Rhys’ direction. “Is that what…?” he rasped out after a moment. “Holy fucking dickballs. Just get me out of these ropes, would ya?” 

A wobbly smirk passed over Rhys’ features, despite everything. It soon became a full on chuckle. He rummaged through the drawers before he found a pair of kitchen shears, using them to neatly snip through the ties that bound the CEO, releasing him. Briefly, Rhys rubbed his fingers against the indentations the ropes had left in the skin, stimulating the circulation there. Then he pulled at the strap of Jack’s blindfold, yanking it off and tossing the accessory to the countertop.

Jack’s knees finally gave out. He sagged to the floor in a tangle of limbs, eyes closed, expression slack and relaxed, chest beaded with drying sweat and rising and falling rhythmically. An eye cracked wide at the sound of the fridge opening, glancing in that direction before closing again.

“Sorry about grabbing the hair,” the younger man apologized. “I…admittedly might’ve gotten carried away.” 

Popping the tops on the two beers he’d extracted, Rhys proffered one in Jack’s direction. 

“S’fine,” Jack replied in a curt tone, voice neutral. “Was pretty freakin’ hot.”

Without looking, he somehow managed to snatch the beer from Rhys’ grasp, chugging it down as if he were some great machine powered merely by alcohol. Rhys pressed his own chilled bottle to his sweaty face and forehead, sweeping away the coils of his hair that had stuck fast there first. By the time he took his first delicate gulp, Jack’s bottle was already empty. Like a dormant giant awoken from its slumber, he unfurled from the floor, lumbering the few steps it took to toss the empty in the recycler. He wouldn’t look at Rhys when he spoke.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he muttered, turning towards the kitchen entrance. “Don’t go running off just yet, ok?”

With those few words, he left. Not much time passed before Rhys heard the telltale sounds of the water running somewhere in the penthouse. Now was his chance. Despite Jack’s request, he could bypass security while the other man was showering, walk out the door and to the elevator and never have to acknowledge him again. 

But he didn’t.

Taking up the cherry cheesecake he’d also dug from the fridge (leftover from the rest of their dinner that they’d taken to go), Rhys left his half-finished beer and found himself in the bedroom, shrugging into a golden silk robe he’d found in Jack’s closet with a black ‘HJ’ monogrammed on the lapel. It was too big on him, one sleeve slipping down his arm, revealing his shoulder and the pale blue ink of his tattoo. Standing at the window he’d been contemplating sometime earlier, he stared out at the vastness of the space surrounding Helios once more, only a scant few shuttles coming and going at this hour. His mind was too numb and wary to process anything that had transpired over the last few hours, so he just stood enraptured, clusters of dark matter burning into his retinas until his vision blurred and his eyes watered. He stabbed a chunk of cheesecake, shoved it into his mouth, the velvety texture melting on his tongue.

The smell of tobacco products burning wafted over to him. In the window, he could see the reflection of Jack approaching, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, damp hair slicked back, short towel encircling his waist. There was no sign of the collar that had been around his neck. His arm wound around the younger man, smoothed down his chest and beneath the material of the garment.

“You look almost as good in my clothes as I do,” he commented.

Rhys sliced off another bite of cheesecake, swiping it through the cherry sauce and chomping down on it. The pads of Jack’s fingers graced his ribcage, roamed upward with a touch far too delicate to be wielded by him. They stopped at his throat, stroking the circular tattoo there. In the reflection, Rhys watched Jack take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke curling from his nostrils. He then buried his face in Rhys’ hair, inhaling deeply.

“You should shower,” he murmured. “I ain’t gonna let you sleep in my bed smelling like a cumdumpster.”

Wrinkling his nose at Jack’s utter lack of tact, Rhys didn’t point out that there was plenty of room in the shower for a whole orgy, had the man not immediately scampered away from him. He also didn’t voice his concerns that he’d never agreed to spend the night. Or anything about the most obvious fact, which was he hadn’t exactly been the one on the receiving end this time.

A fact that hadn’t seemed to settle so easily in either of them, apparently, if the way Jack _still_ wouldn’t meet his gaze when he turned in his embrace was anything to go by. Taking advantage of the cigarette not being in Jack’s mouth, Rhys maneuvered some cheesecake on to his fork along with a cherry, holding it out before the other man. Jack’s lips wrapped around it, teeth almost violently piercing the hide of the fruit as he drew off, tongue smacking at the remnants of creamy excess and vibrant cherry juice around his mouth. There was a moan from him that was downright reminiscent of earlier.

“That is some real decadent shit, lemme tell ya,” he commented. “I could practically friggin’ _live_ on this.” 

“Probably wouldn’t be very good for your health.” Rhys shoved the remainder of what was on the plate into his hand. “Have the rest. I’m going to grab that shower.”

He couldn’t have been that long in the shower, only shampooing his hair once, not even applying any moisturizers or exfoliating scrubs to his skin. Nevertheless, when he emerged tucked once again in Jack’s robe, the empty cake plate sat on the night stand, cigarette butt lying on its surface, the CEO’s bulky, nude form sprawled across his mattress. He was snoring deeply. 

Sighing to himself, Rhys knew once again that this was his last chance to flee the penthouse. He could leave, put this whole night behind him, move on to something far less complex relationship wise, far safer by its very nature. Vaughn would have probably advised just that, safe in the knowledge that they could both sigh a collective breath of relief as Rhys dodged potential crosshairs.

But Rhys had never gotten anywhere remarkable in life by staying on the straight and narrow.

Leaving the robe on, he climbed into bed beside Jack. Instead of tucking himself in against the man, he remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the bed’s clamshell structure; a structure that probably cost his month’s paycheck and then some. 

Apparently a light sleeper, Jack rolled over then, tucking himself up against Rhys’ side, one leg and arm draping possessively over him. A jumble of words tumbled form his lips, faint and indecipherable. The younger man’s heart sped up as he thought he heard the word _love_ somewhere in there, but he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t bank on the veracity of lethargic words. For all he knew, Jack’s sleep-addled brain could be thinking about the cheesecake.

For the duration of the night, sleep for Rhys remained an elusive concept. By the time Jack’s alarm was going off, reminding him of his trip to Aquator, it was too late to find any rest.

**XXX**

When he opened his apartment door, the first thing to greet Rhys was Seamus. The fluffy, snow-white Persian stared up at him expectantly, his ever dour expression looking absolutely accusatory, as if Rhys had abandoned him for _days_. He meowed once, like Rhys might miss spotting his bulky form if he didn't catch his attention. With a soft pat and a scratch behind his ears, Rhys continued further into the apartment, the cat rising and trailing behind him.

In the kitchen, Vaughn was sitting at the table there, scarfing down his breakfast. By the tank top and gym shorts he wore, and his overall sweaty look, it seemed he had just come back from a workout. He perked up when he saw Rhys padding in, a thread of relief in his voice when he spoke.

“Bro, I was so worried about you. I thought you were coming back last night, and I was going to call, but I didn’t want to interrupt anything if you were having a good time. Did you spend the night? Wait, of course you did. So are you two serious now, or, like, how did it go? Also, I made you some extra sausage.”

Trying to follow the rapid-fire succession of Vaughn’s words, Rhys clamped a hand to his face, rubbing the tension out of his features. Vaughn must’ve caught on, or seen his reddened eyes and how they were weighted down by dark bags.

“Whoa, are you hungover? Did something happen? Rhys—what’s wrong?”

The concern in Vaughn’s voice crescendoed rapidly, making the words even faster, somehow. 

Groaning without meaning to, Rhys answered, “Something…_did_ happen,” before an insistent beeping in his head distracted him. The ID for the comm call flashed before his vision. “Hold that thought. I’ll tell you all about it after I take this call.”

Stealing a sausage from the plate set on the counter, Rhys almost tripped over Seamus on the way out of the kitchen, who’d found his food bowl and was busy gorging himself. Entering his room, he closed the door quietly behind him, flopping down on to his bed and noticing it was far less comfortable than Jack’s had been as he ate his sausage link in three bites.

“What’s up, Hugo?” he asked tiredly as he raised his palm to eye level, chewing and swallowing, the holo projection coming to life to display his co-worker and business partner apparently going the distance on a home treadmill. Looked like Vaughn wasn’t the only one catching up on workouts over the weekend. “This better be important because, boy, did I have a night.”

Hugo raised both eyebrows at him.

“Cute. I’ll make this snappy, then. Received an invitation this morning and could use a plus one. What say you on joining me for another weekend getaway in a month? Same location, likely same people.”

“Oh, no,” Rhys groaned out, not missing a beat. “No. No way. I’m not getting involved with that shit.”

“What, really?” The look on Hugo’s face was genuinely stricken. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself plenty enough last time.”

“Oh, sure, it was civilized enough. A little too heavy-handed for my tastes at times, but not unbearable. It’s not that at all. It’s just that I’ve been seeing someone recently.” 

“Ah, you haven’t mentioned that to me before.”

Kicking off his boots, Rhys swung his legs on to the bed and lay back, relaxing into his pillows (also noticeably not as comfortable as Jack’s).

“Yeah, it’s a recent thing. We weren’t really serious yet. But, shit, Hugo. You know those men who swear to you up and down that they’re Doms and know how to take care of a sub’s needs and tease you with what they’re going to do to you and blah blah blah? Then they totally take you back to their place, put you in a situation they _never_ negotiated with you, and don’t even set up any precautions. They just expect you to be fine with what they’re doing, because, oh, you’re a sub!”

Rhys realized his voice was getting high and thin with exasperation, his words louder as he worked himself up. Vaughn might be knocking at his door asking what the hell was wrong with him soon if he didn’t calm down. 

Hugo made a disgusted noise and pulled a face.

“He’s one of _those_ types. Gives people like me a bad name. Makes it _really_ hard to find people genuinely into the scene. Despicable.” 

“Yeah, utterly just—and then, even worse. I try to turn the tables on him, teach him a thing or two about proper etiquette. Maybe I even went too far and, er, drew some blood. But to be fair, he was probably going to use the knife on me!”

“He _what_ with _what_?”

“And then, you know what happens? Of all the things that could’ve come out of this, instead of him coming to _any_ understanding, he fucking turns out to have a submissive streak a mile long and it just took me so off guard that I was _enjoying_ being manipulated into doing things to him. The whole plot just went completely out the window, right into the dumpster fire below. And now I’m not even sure where _I_ fit into all this.”

There was a long pause where Hugo didn’t say anything, hand stroking his beard while the sounds of the treadmill whirred on in the background. 

“You know, Rhys. You don’t have to be _entirely_ subordinate. There’s no hard, fast rules here. You can just as easily be a switch and enjoy the dominant position.” The man shrugged. “Maybe that’s just what you are. And if so, there’s nothing wrong with embracing it.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that I think I’m done with all this. This lifestyle. It isn’t for me. I just want to have fun dates, get laid, _maybe_ someone ties me up and blindfolds me on occasion.” Slapping a hand over his face like earlier, Rhys sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, his tone all but deflating. “And the worse thing about all this? I think I’ve fallen pretty hard for the guy.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Hugo replied, perking up. “Just be honest with him. Talk about expectations in the bedroom. Make sure he understands your hard limits, if he does something that you feel uncomfortable with. Ain’t no different than a regular relationship.”

“Oh, it’s bad. It’s real, real bad. It ain’t just some plain guy from customer service or anything like that. That wouldn’t be problematic.” Rhys swallowed hard, parting his fingers to look directly at Hugo. “This, though? This just so happens to be goddam Handsome Jack himself.”

There was a distinct crash as Vasquez apparently lost his footing entirely and went sailing off the treadmill.

**Author's Note:**

> This story got away from me, tripling in size from what I originally had planned and taking way longer than I ever thought it would. It also came out a bit darker than the original vision. C'est la vie, I guess. Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. I'll probably write a third and final story in this series at some point, though I'm not sure what the pairing(s) or dynamic(s) will be yet. Maybe something involving Timothy? Who knows.


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